Angelic
by quietdestler
Summary: MODERN AU. E/C. In which Christine Daaé gets a job at the Palais Garnier as a stylist for the ballerinas. Could the opera ghost help her become more, and gain the recognition she deserves? And could she help him escape the darkness of his mind?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Christine's and Meg's looks in this book are Leroux based, however Erik's looks are ALW based (mostly on Hugh Panaro's phantom), while his personality and traits are a mix of all adaptations.**

"Any questions?"  
This was the question Christine asked on a daily basis, to a different crowd of people each day. Rarely did anyone actually ask a question, and when they did, it wasn't interesting, or completely off-topic. Such as 'when does this end?' or 'what's the nearest coffee shop?' She was completely fed up of it. Completely fed up of being a tour guide, especially of the damn Opera Garnier! What foolishness in her had convinced her to do it, she had no idea.

A little girl on her father's shoulders shyly raised her hand after quiet encouragement from her mother. As soon as Christine noticed, a beautiful smile appeared on her face.

"Yes?" She smiled, looking directly towards the girl. The girl looked at her mother and received a nod of encouragement.

"Can you- do you sing?"

Christine's smile faltered. She felt herself go weak and lightheaded.

Of course she sung. But to herself or her friends only.

"Yes. . ." She said nervously, swallowing, "I sing opera and musical theatre. Why do you ask?"

The crowd of tourists gasped.

"Sing something!" A man shouted, raising his fist up to the air.

"Yeah!" Everyone had now began telling Christine to sing, not giving her a chance to protest. She frowned, her heart beating faster than ever. The last time she had sung in front of people was in a school production back when she was about six. It was only one line, too! 'I've got a stable and it's yours for free.' She still remembered that line. But that wasn't opera. Now, they were asking for her to sing damned opera. Opera. She couldn't.  
Christine scanned the cheering crowd, her throat closing in and her palms sweating. Oh God, she was screwed. Her neck was sweating underneath her thick blonde curls and her chest was rising and falling alarmingly fast.  
No, no God. . . not anxiety. . .

Anxiety was practically her worst enemy, and the only part of her she truly detested. It took her happiness away, it kept her from sleeping at night, it did anything to make her miserable and unhealthy. It stopped her from achieving her goals.

"Well, aren't you gonna sing for us?"

The father of the young girl was speaking. He had raised an eyebrow at Christine, waiting impatiently while tapping his foot on the marble floor.

"Sir. . . I'm afraid I-I am only a tour guide. I cannot sing for you, your girl, nor anyone e-else here." She stammered, holding her breath in and waiting for a response. The man rolled his eyes and exchanged a few words with the woman who Christine assumed to be his wife, and the rest of the tourists groaned.

"C'mon, Miss Daaé." Someone said. Christine sighed, playing with her fingers.

"God, if you insist!" She finally gave in, and with a shaky voice began singing Queen of the Night from The Magic Flute. Her voice flowed almost perfectly and her staccatos were practically correct. She would be eligible for a role here, at this opera house!

The crowd watched and listened, stunned, as the lady sang intensely. She was shaking unbelievably, too. She could barely get her vibratos out, before they disappeared because of her dramatic nerves.

Then she finished, and could not bear to open her eyes, when suddenly there was an applause. And she did open her eyes, to people all around the area cheering. _For her_. She could not help but to smile, when suddenly she was grabbed by the arm and pulled backwards, behind a wall. It was her boss, M. André.

"What was the reason for that?" He asked her, looking her right in her blue eyes with his grey ones. Christine's eyes began filling with tears.

"I just. . . they. . . I was under. . . pressure. . ." She tried to talk but her cries would not let her.

"Under pressure?! Christine, you're the guide here! You tell them to shut the hell up! You're too nice!"

"I know." Christine lowered her head and studied the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mlle. Daaé. I've given you too many chances." M. André quietly, yet sternly said. Christine looked at him in alarm.

"No." She whispered in denial, shaking her head, "No, no, no Sir! You can't—"

"I can. I'm sorry. You're fired, Christine."

Christine's heart sank, and her stomach twisted.

 _You're fired._

The words echoed in her mind. She couldn't have been fired! The word 'fired' in itself made her feel nauseous. She felt awful. Her throat was closing up and tears were pooling up in her eyes again. She was going to have no money!

"Please, Monsieur, just one more chance!" She cried, "I will never dare to—"

"No!" M. André raised his voice, then lowering the volume, "No. I have let you off too many times. This is it. You're fired."

He said it again, the two words Christine had always dreaded. And the more she heard it, and the more she repeated it in her head, the more she felt the urge to vomit.

"Fine," Christine finally said, her voice shaking, "Fine." She gave M. André one last look and turned on her heel, walking away. The heel of her white shoes clicked against the marble floor, as the crowd of tourists she was leading around watched in shock. They looked at M. André, who was standing with his arms crossed, watching Christine storm away. He sighed and looked away. Perhaps he did slightly regret firing her. She was a good employee, and probably the main reason for all the good reviews on the Palais Garnier's website. Now that she was gone, there would probably be worse reviews, given that the other employees weren't that great. They were stern and boring, whereas Christine was joyful, exciting, and smiley.

Christine slammed the door of her apartment, went into her bedroom, and dived straight into all the cushions on her large, velvet-covered bed. Sobs began escaping her mouth and tears stained one of the cushions. She lost her job and now she was probably going to be poor, which meant that she would lose her home and end up homeless, then that meant she would starve and die.

And she didn't want to die. Or starve. Or lose her home. Or be poor.

So she was going to prevent that.

Christine became lightheaded because of her sudden rise from the bed, but quickly regained her senses and snapped back into reality. She looked around the room. _The laptop, where was it?_ Suddenly she spotted her MacBook Air in the corner of the room, on the floor. Christine sighed as she walked over to it, knowing how messy and unorganised she was. She grabbed the laptop and practically leapt back onto her back, opening the laptop and turning it on.

She browsed through different websites and pages of places which were hiring, when she came across the job of a ballet stylist. She would be styling the best ballerinas in Paris, perhaps even the whole of France, back at the Opera Garnier, and perhaps somehow she'd be able to fulfill her dream and get into the ballet and/or opera industry. She's done ballet before, and of course she sings opera. To herself, though, and to no one else. Especially as of today, from which she got fired from a job she truly enjoyed.

And so Christine applied for the job.

"Do I look fine?"

"Yes, Meg, you look stunning." Christine was curling Meg Giry's dark hair, while Meg sat in her chair, staring at herself in the mirror with doubt.

"Christine, I'm so glad you became a stylist here. I feel so much better and relaxed, knowing you're here." Meg smiled at Christine in the reflection, and Christine smiled back.

"I'll be silently cheering you on from the wings while you perform." She chuckled, letting the curling iron release the last dark curl from Meg's hair. She turned it off and put it away, and then joined her friend in looking at her reflection. Meg was grinning.

"Oh, you did it so well!" She exclaimed, turning around and hugging Christine. Christine laughed and hugged her back.

"It is my pleasure."

Her words echoed throughout the passageway that he was sitting in. It was such an unusual yet pleasing melody in which the way she talked flowed. And never had he heard such a beautiful singing voice. When he heard her sing that day, while she was touring. Then she got fired, and when he heard the words of her boss, it took all of his strength and sanity to stop him from leaving his hiding spot and snapping the man's neck, there and then.

Erik shuffled in his spot, taking his fedora off and sliding his mask down a little, to wipe the covered side of his forehead.

He may have been deformed, but he could still bloody sweat.

He put the mask back in its place, and wiped the uncovered side of his forehead, taking in the smoothness of his skin on that side. That was certainly one good thing about his face. He lived, practically, in a sewer, and hardly ever saw the light of day, yet the good side of his skin never got any blemishes or acne. Neither did it get oily. And supposedly, that made him slightly happy. He'd look himself in the mirror and pretend to be impressing the sweet blonde tour guide, but then he'd remember the bad side of his face, and all of his hope would die down, putting him into great misery. Perhaps his face didn't sound so bad. But it was. Oh God, it truly was.

Erik panted as he finally got out of the vents, back into his dungeon of despair. He still had his fedora in his hand, and therefore used it as a fan to cool himself down. He hadn't been so hot in ages.

Still panting, he staggered to the living area of his lair, and flopped himself down onto the couch.

"Shit." He muttered to himself, realising that he had forgotten to take his long cloak off. Now he was uncomfortable, but too lazy to get up and take it off. He sighed, as he gathered some energy to stand up.

"Oh, happy days." Erik groaned, untying the knot at his neck, sliding the cloak off of his shoulders, and carelessly tossing it onto a nearby chair. Then, once again, he flopped down onto the couch. Now he was comfortable. He unbuttoned his waistcoat, managed to get it off, and flung it behind him, then he unbuttoned the top bottom of his shirt and let out a sigh of relief as he finally felt the sweet release of breathing again. Not that he enjoyed living, though.

His lips twisted into a smirk, as he thought of her again. _If he could somehow lure her in here. . ._ No. He didn't want her coming here. Well, no, he did. He wanted to wife her. But he didn't want her to see how weird he was. Weird? Was that the right word?

Besides, what would she think when she found out he stalked her? Erik didn't even deny it to himself. He knew it was stalking. Watching someone almost all of the time, thinking of them constantly, and of course, developing a strong love for them without even exchanging a word! Christine didn't even know he existed.

 _I could so easily seduce her. . ._ Erik mused to himself, his eyes shutting. Could he imagine Christine here, being seduced by _him_? No. He couldn't. He knew she couldn't be seduced by him, by this _thing_. This _creature._ This _monster._

Why was he lying to himself? Christine deserved someone better. Like someone handsome, someone rich, and someone normal. Not someone deformed. Not someone with the most tragic backstory. Not someone living in some sort of cave underneath a building.

Erik shuddered. He hated thinking of his past. He tried to avoid it at all costs, but even that didn't work. He'd end up having nightmares about it, anyway.

He stood up, and paced around the area, suddenly ending up at the only mirror there. It was so small. How was he to make her fall in love with. . . with _this_? Why, he questioned, was _he_ in love with _her_? It couldn't have _just_ been her good looks. It was. . . something else. Her voice. Her voice was mesmerising, smooth and soft. Not just her speaking voice. But her singing voice! He had never heard anything like it. She needed just a bit more training, and she could be the next diva, the next prima donna! And that was exactly what this opera house needed. A new prima donna.

Erik pulled out his jet black iPhone 8+, and went onto the Palais Garnier website. There was a photo of Carlotta Giudicelli, the current prima donna. Just a single look at this woman triggered Erik's gag reflex. He closed the page, and turned his phone off. Yes, this opera house definitely needed a new prima donna, and that was exactly what Christine was to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Almost thirty minutes had passed since Christine had called for a taxi. She was standing outside the opera house, her legs beginning to ache. There was no benches or anything nearby, and she was certainly not going to sit on the floor.

Suddenly, a black Rolls Royce pulled up. The window was rolled down and revealed a man, wearing a black fedora hat, and dark, formal attire. He hardly turned his head, but looked at Christine with golden, almost glowing eyes.

"D-do you need a lift somewhere?" He asked. Christine's eyebrows raised. She had never heard such a beautiful, soft, melodic voice. It was like that of an angel. She also realised that the man seemed nervous, and a blush almost crept up onto his pale skin. Then she snapped back to reality, and her anxiety began kicking in.

"Oh," She said quietly, "I'm just. . . waiting for my taxi."

"You've been waiting f-for half an hour." The man replied, anxiously. He took a shaky breath and seemed to attempt to steady himself. Christine frowned. He seemed a good person, but how could she trust him? He had unusually coloured eyes, very pale skin, wore a dark fedora hat (which hardly anyone even wore anymore!), had an strangely hypnotic voice, and he was also seemingly wearing a cloak of some sort, over a suit. From what Christine could see, he looked like he was in his late 30s, perhaps even early 40s. And for all she knew, he could be a rapist. But what rapist would be so nervous? Unless he was an amazing actor, what reason would he have to be so anxious? Besides, how'd he know she was waiting here for half an hour? Had he been watching her?

"I. . . I'll just walk. Thanks, though." She blurted out, and silently cursed herself for it, as she began walking away. God, she did _not_ want to walk for twenty-five minutes to her apartment, especially at night. It was super busy, and of course, Paris being 'the city of lights', it was quite bright too, however this being one of, if not the most famous city on the planet, it probably consisted of pedophiles, kidnappers, murderers, and rapists. This man was probably one of them.

"Please, Madame, I- I bid you a lift home. You cannot walk if it is far."

The Rolls Royce was driving slowly next to Christine, with the man watching her intently. She stopped and sighed. There was definitely something in him that made her trust him. And so she nodded in defeat. The man got out of the car almost instantly, and walked to the other side, opening the door of the passenger seat for Christine to get in. She obeyed, and went to go in, when she noticed that despite his hat being largely tipped, he was wearing a white mask on the right side of his face. It was practically glowing against the lights of the city, and it stood out so well. It made him look quite attractive.

But he caught Christine staring for too long, and his polite look was replaced by a threatening one. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Take a photo, maybe it'll last longer." He hissed. His voice sent shivers down her spine as she sat down. The man slammed the door, and flounced back to the left side of the car, getting in, and slamming his door, too. Christine could do nothing but look out of the window, sighing. She clipped her seatbelt and looked down at her hands, fidgeting. What had she gotten herself into? She was currently in the car of a weird stranger, who had apparently been watching her for half an hour. Suddenly something hit her. She turned to look at the man who had now begun driving.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but you don't know where I live, do you?" She asked in alarm, and the man, well, God knows what expression he made under that mask.

"No. So if you'd care to give me directions, that'd be great, if you really want to get home." He seemed a bit frustrated after the small incident earlier. Perhaps the mask was an insecurity? But then again, why would he wear it if he felt uncomfortable with it?

"Right, yes, my apologies." Christine typed in the address on the GPS, and the man stared at it for a while.

"Mon Dieu, you live _there_?" He asked, a hint of unkind laughter in his voice.

"Yes, Sir."

"Mmm. You don't happen to know someone called Nadir Khan, do you?"

Christine nodded, "He's my neighbour."

The man chuckled, "Oh dear."

Afterwards, no words were exchanged. Christine realised that his nerves had faded, he seemed slightly easier to talk to now.

Except she'd also realised she gave him her address, not even knowing his name.

"If I may," She spoke, "What's your name?"

The man didn't answer for about a minute.

"M-my name? You want my name?" He asked, as if it had been his full personal details she'd asked for.

"Yes, I mean, I think I ought to know the name of the man who ever so politely offered to take me home." Christine furrowed her eyebrows, looking at him.

"Erik's name is an awful name. I won't be surprised if you choose _not_ to address it as so."

Christine was taken aback. Had he just referred to himself in _third person_ , and then as an _it_? Immediately, she decided to somehow make him feel better.

"Erik is a beautiful name, my favourite male name in fact. And don't you ever, _ever_ dare to refer to yourself as an _it_. You are a man. A good man. I shan't ever want to hear you speak like that of yourself again." She demanded, anger boiling up inside of her. Whoever had made him feel like this deserved to burn in the depths of hell!

Erik let out a sound which sounded a bit like a sob, then turned to Christine.

"Christine. . ." He whispered.

"How do you know my name?" Christine asked, her eyes widening.

"I work at the opera house, uh. Kind of. P-part-time, you know. Haha. Yes. Part-time." He said it so awkwardly, Christine began wondering if he was lying.

"Oh, I've never seen you around. Have you ever seen _me_ around?"

"Um, yes."

There was silence, and Erik pulled up next to the flat. It was white, and beautifully carved, with black swirly railings at each window. He stared for a long time, giving Christine the chance to study him. He was truly good looking, from what one could see, and seemingly, it looked like he had a bit of makeup on. Like he slightly filled in his eyebrow, put some foundation on, and it looked like he had a bit of manliner on. But it made him so much more intimidating and attractive.

She hadn't realised that Erik was looking at her the same way as she was looking at him.

"Are you done?" He asked quietly. Christine looked down in embarrassment and nodded, getting out of the car. She walked towards the door when suddenly she stopped and turned back around. Erik had rolled his tinted window down and was watching her, to make sure she got in. He gave her a puzzled look when she turned to look back at him.

"Thank you for the lift, Erik. I hope to see you around." She smiled, and Erik grinned smugly, rolled his window back up, and drove away. Christine took a deep breath and turned to walk into the building, when all of a sudden she was met with a shadowy figure.

"M. Khan!" She exclaimed, flinching and stepping backwards, "Gosh, you scared me." She put a hand to her heart and tried to steady her breathing again. M. Khan looked rather angry.

"What were you doing with _him_ , Mlle. Daaé?" He asked curiously, a hint of rage in his voice.

"He- he offered to give me a lift home when I was waiting for my taxi. I think the taxi got stuck in traffic, because I heard on the radio that there was a crash. So, I was waiting about half an hour, when Erik pulled up and offered to give me a lift home. He was nervous, but super sweet and polite about it. Honestly, I didn't trust him at first, but then I sort of gave in, something in him just made me rely on him. I accidentally stared at his mask for too long and he snapped at me, and then it was pretty awkward, but then we kind of just acted as if nothing happened. And his voice is so soft and mesmerising, I don't think I've ever heard such an angelic voice. Honestly, he's fit for ASMR. Oh yeah, and he did mention you. When I put the address in on the GPS, he went 'mon Dieu, you live there?' and I said 'yes' and he asked me if I happened to know someone by the name of Nadir Khan. I said yes, because duh, it's you. And—"

"Alright, that's quite enough."

"Oh, God, I should've asked him what he worked as! Now I'll never know unless I just. . . _see_ him."

M. Khan frowned, "What do you mean by 'what he worked as'?"

Christine didn't hesitate to reply. She seemed really eager to talk about him. "He said he worked part time at the opera house. That's how he knows me. Because I work there too."

The man's eyes widened and his coffee-coloured skin grew pale. "Oh no." He whispered, shoving past Christine while dialling a number and putting his phone to his ear, then getting into his car. Before he closed the door, he leaned out to Christine.

"I apologise on his behalf!" And he drove away.

It didn't take long for one of Erik's trapdoors to be thrown open by the daroga.

Erik flinched and watched Nadir, as he stormed down towards him.

"You put that book down and talk to me right this instant." The daroga demanded. Erik merely turned back to his book and continued reading, when suddenly it was snatched from his hands, causing him to practically leap up.

"Hey, give that back, you moron!" Erik whined, trying to reach for it, but then Nadir threw it backwards, causing it to land in the water, and then it sunk. Erik's face contorted into a dark look.

"You have four more copies of that book. Don't act like it was something special." Nadir said, "Besides, you threw my whole journal into my fireplace the other day!"

"Doesn't give you the right to act like a bitch! Grow up!" Erik snapped, turning 90° away from Nadir and folding his arms across his chest. The daroga sighed.

"Listen Erik, I want you to tell me all about the situation with Christine. Now."

Erik gasped, whipping back around. Nadir didn't think that Erik's face could get any paler, but yet it did.

"Who told you?" The masked man began walking towards his companion, and Nadir had no choice but to edge backwards in fright. Indeed, they had known each other for years by now, however Erik was definitely still very scary. He was an unstoppable and careless murderer, after all! Was he not?

"Ch-Christine told me."

At the very mention of the girl's name, Erik froze, now the bare side of his face turning pink.

"Christine?" He asked. It was barely a whisper. He looked into a random space behind Nadir, and seemed to be daydreaming.

"Yes, _Christine_!" Nadir exclaimed, "Will you tell me what's happened, you man baby?"

Erik's gaze snapped back to Nadir, and he walked past him, muttering a "very well".

The two of them sat down on the loveseat and Erik leaned his head back and took a deep breath.

"It wasn't really much," He began, "I saw her around at the opera house previously as a stylist, mainly for the Giry girl. I don't know. . . I saw something in her. That night, she had called for a taxi but the taxi never came because there was a car crash and it got stuck in traffic, so Christine was waiting for almost half an hour. You know, she's lucky it's summer otherwise it would have been colder and she'd have frozen. Anyways, I kind of just sat in my car for a while, watching her. I was there the whole time, actually. You're going to think I'm creepy, but, honestly, I found it quite amusing. All her smallest moves and details. The little frustrated looks she'd have on her face. You see, she made me chuckle every so often. It went by so fast, and when I looked at the time, twenty-eight minutes had passed, and I could tell she was getting genuinely frustrated. So I cursed myself, loathed myself, and built up the courage to offer her a ride home. . ."

"You offered her a ride home."

Erik swallowed, "Let me continue before you comment."

Nadir raised an eyebrow and nodded for Erik to continue.

"So," The masked man continued, "I. . . I was shaking so badly. My anxiety had truly reached its peak and I could barely build up the words for her. And my mask! I couldn't let her see my mask yet. So I barely turned my head. She had such a look on her face, she probably thought I was bizarre. Like the monster that I am."

"You're not—"

"Hush. Anyways, she could probably tell I was nervous, and I could tell there was a hint of trust in her eyes, but she declined my offer politely, and said she'd walk. So she started walking, but knowing Paris at night, I couldn't let her walk alone. I felt awful. I pitied her and I hated myself. That I wasn't normal. That maybe, if I didn't have a _fucking disfigured face_ , my life would be most different and she wouldn't be so uncomfortable. But I pleaded, and she gave in. I stood to let her into the passenger door, forgetting she had not seen my mask yet. And she stared, Nadir. She stared! Oh, it took all of my strength and sanity not to rip the mask off there and then! I got so aggressive, and I detest myself for it. I hissed at her. And I _scared her._ That was the last damn thing on my imaginary to-do list. I hated it. I felt so nauseous, and she looked so frightened. Daroga, it was a nightmare! A _nightmare_ , do you hear me? I began driving her home and I told her my name because she asked, and when I referred to myself as an _it_ and in third person, she scolded me! She scolded me for doing that! She didn't agree with me! Can you believe it? But. . . that's not the worst part. The worst part was when I said her name. Being the dumbass I am. I said her fucking name! I said it! 'Christine. . .' I couldn't resist it. Her name just. . . it rolls off so well. I love saying it. And the look on her face. She had no idea how I knew her name, because, well, obviously. She didn't _know_ me. And evidently, I got too comfortable. So I had to lie and tell her I had a part-time job at the opera house. God, it was horrible. I could tell she wasn't convinced. Then I found out she was your neighbour. As if things couldn't get any worse! I knew she'd tell you all about what happened, and I couldn't stand a scolding from you. You're like the older brother I never had! I do get scared of you, sometimes, when you shout or get angry. I'm not totally fearless and I am scared of a lot of things. So when you stormed in, I tried to stay as calm as I could. You know. That's it really." Erik looked down, pink hinting at his left cheek. Nadir frowned.

"And how did you firstly find out about her?" He asked curiously. Erik sighed.

"I heard her sing. When she was a tour guide. I heard her voice, and I thought it was an angel! It was beautiful! I had never heard anything like it. And compared to _Whorelotta_ , her voice was truly the equivalent of melted chocolate. Of melted marshmallows. Just, of anything good, you know. I had to see the face of the voice. And, just like that, I. . . I. . ." Erik was having difficulty with the following words.

"Spit it out!" Nadir encouraged him.

"I fell in love!" Erik blurted out, holding the bridge of his masked nose, "Yes, I fell in love with her! How could I not? She was the most beautiful creature on this planet that I had ever seen. She was more beautiful than what I remembered of my mother. I. . . had to know more. When she got fired, I almost snapped the man's neck! I was so happy she came back, for I could not lose her under any circumstances! And I, well, I kind of stalked her in a way. But please don't think of it the wrong way. You know, I just. . . I want to marry her one day."

"Marry her? Damn, Erik. You've just met her. She hardly knows you. 'You can't marry s—'"

"'. . . omeone you just met'," Erik finished with exasperation, "I know, I know. You forced me to watch Frozen. It was awful, by the way. You think I, a love deprived thing, would like that?"

"You're not a thing, Erik!"

"Whatever."

The daroga snuck his hand towards Erik's ribs and poked him, causing him to jerk away with a small chuckle.

"Stop," Erik moaned, "I hate it when you tickle me. I'm not the type to laugh."

"Oh?" Nadir questioned, lightly poking him again. Erik laughed and poked him back.

Nadir was careful not to touch Erik too much or to get too close to him, because he knew the guy was sensitive to touches. Poor, poor Erik!


	3. Chapter 3

Christine was driving to Charles de Gaulle Airport in her rickety Fiat 500. It was the older version of the car, and Christine knew she had to purchase a newer version of it, or even a new car, but this car had been passed down from her grandfather, and was just too special to give away. It was from 1965, and it was orange. And how Christine hated orange! It was another reason to give it away.

The ringtone of her phone began echoing throughout the car and Christine clenched her teeth. She would not, under any circumstances, make calls while driving. And therefore she pulled over, and answered, forgetting to check who was calling.

"Hello?" She said anxiously.

"Christine!" A familiar and friendly voice came through, and Christine immediately smiled, baring her teeth.

"Raoul!" She exclaimed joyfully, "I'm on my way!"

She could practically feel Raoul smile on the other side of the phone.

"Amazing! How long left? I've just came in with the other arrivals, and now I'm waiting in line for a coffee."

"Not long!" Christine replied, "I've just pulled over to speak to you, but I know I'm really close because I can see a plane that's just departed."

"Great! I'll see you. I'll just be waiting somewhere here. All right?"

"All right!" Christine hung up and continued her journey.

There were people everywhere. Left and right, in front and behind. Christine wasn't good in these situations. She had mild social anxiety and being alone in an airport was not good for her mental health. Her footsteps became smaller and quicker, and drops of sweat were practically running down her forehead. Where were the arrivals?

All of a sudden she noticed the large lit up writing:

 **TERMINAL 2E**

 **ARRIVÉES - ARRIVALS**

Raoul said that he would be somewhere around here. . .

Christine looked around, desperately hoping to see a man with blond, short and wavy hair, a light brown moustache, and kind blue eyes.

 **[A/N: Search up Aaron Taylor-Johnson's character in the film "Anna Karenina" for a better image of Raoul]**

Anxiety built up inside her and she clenched her fists as they began to sweat. God, where was he? Christine couldn't wait any longer. She looked around again at a bunch of people sitting on soft seats. And her eyes were laid upon one specific person. Raoul! He sat with one leg crossed over the other, coffee in one hand and phone in the other. His face was contorted in concentration as he scrolled on his phone.

Christine edged towards him, a smile growing on her face. The closer she got, the more her heart beat. And that was when Raoul looked up, directly at her. He practically leapt up, put his phone in his pocket and ran towards Christine. He suddenly opened his arms and Christine did what she ought to. She embraced him, and he embraced her back, as they both laughed. Raoul picked her up, two feet above the ground, and spun her around. Then he put her down, and they laughed as the people around them watched.

"Christine!" Raoul beamed, cupping her face with his hands, "How I've missed you!"

Christine chuckled, "I missed you more!"

Raoul shook his head, still smiling, and hugged her once more. Christine took in his scent. He smelt of vanilla, and mildly of aftershave. She smiled to herself as he let go. How she'd missed this man and everything about him!

"Shall we go home then?" Christine looked up at Raoul, who was still grinning at her. He nodded enthusiastically, and they began their trip back to Christine's apartment.

The leaflet in Erik's hands was suddenly ripped, the sound echoing throughout the cellar. Erik stood up and wandered over to the edge. He leaned over the water, and dropped the paper in. Sighing, he returned to his seat opposite Nadir.

"I really _will_ 'swing from the chandelier' if she sets foot on that stage." He muttered, causing Nadir's head to snap up and look at him in confusion.

"Who?"

Erik laughed disturbingly, "Who do you think?! Bitchlotta, of course!"

Nadir's lips were formed into a thin line. Erik truly did hate Carlotta Giudicelli. Hell, he probably would have killed her by now, if it weren't for Nadir's pleading not to. Erik's history with Carlotta wasn't great. She'd been the prima donna for two years now, and Erik thought it was too long, and therefore he did everything to get her off that stage. But he failed; she'd always get back on track. And it angered Erik, because he hated failing. He _could not_ fail. He refused to fail.

"Hey, you know what?" He said suddenly, standing up, "I'm going out. I might bump into Christine and consider asking her if she'd like vocal lessons from _moi_. Hopefully she says yes, and I'll get rid of this whore that they call _Carlotta._ "

"In other words," Nadir sighed, "You're going to be outside Christine's apartment, waiting for her to come out, even if it takes days, and then you'll somehow persuade her to take vocal lessons from you."

Erik looked down at the floor in shame, then nodded.

"You know me so well." He quietly said, and Nadir's heart almost broke at how vulnerable he sounded.

"Come on," Nadir said, frowning, "Try to approach her normally this time." His tone was as soft as he could make it sound, but Erik's mismatched eyes met his with a deathly glare, sending shivers down his spine. Nadir swallowed and wished he could reverse his words, but then Erik's face softened, and his clenched jaw slackened. He sighed in such a way that could convince anyone that his soul was the most pained. Then he turned on his heel, grabbed his cloak and hat, put them on, and left.

Erik stepped outside into the warm air, tipping his fedora hat towards the right side so that it cast a shadow over his white mask. He definitely attracted a lot of attention. People were looking him up and down, and there were a few mothers and fathers dragging their children away while giving Erik dodgy looks. And when Erik looked back at them and they made eye contact, their eyes widened and their faces grew pale like never before, before scurrying away.

He made his way to Christine's apartment, when he suddenly froze and ran behind a car.

He could see Christine and another man, laughing and linking arms while walking towards the door. The man was charming, certainly. He had fluffy-looking blond hair, tanned skin, and a kind smile.

Erik's heart dropped. He could not bear to look at the sight in front of him. His stomach was hurting and churning and his heart was breaking. God, who was he kidding? Christine had only met him _once_. Who was he to think he had any chances?

Tears filled his eyes as he knelt down, tearing his eyes away from the sight. His throat grew tight, and a sob escaped his body. Immediately, he covered his mouth as a way of silencing himself.

Who was Erik?

A stalker. A creep. A deformed monster. A killer. Right?

But here he was, in love with someone who practically didn't even know him. And to think he actually assumed he'd have a chance! A fool he was.

"Monsieur Erik?"

He flinched at the sound of this voice. This voice, this perfect, melodic voice. _Christine_. . .

He turned and stood up, wiping nonexistent dirt from his cloak and straightening his hat and mask. He cleared his throat as he faced Christine, the blond man next to her. He still had the hint of a smile on his face, and Erik wanted to do nothing more but to punch his stupid, perfect face.

Raoul stiffened and paled at Erik's cold stare, looking away.

"Christine." Erik sternly said, looking back at the girl, his gaze softening.

"Whatever are you doing down here?" Christine asked, clearly concerned, which surprised Erik, "Are you all right? Have you been. . . _crying_?" She reached out her hand to wipe a tear from Erik's left cheek, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her from touching him. And the very feeling of her skin against his sent sparks throughout both of their bodies. Almost instantly, Erik let go, and wiped the tear with his own hand.

"Of course not! I was just. . . walking past a few people who. . . who were spraying water around. I guess it got on me." He lied, swallowing intensely. He made eye contact with Raoul once again, and Raoul tried for a small smile, but Erik was quick to shoot him another glare, causing the poor man to look away rapidly and shuffle awkwardly.

"Right," Christine muttered, sensing the awkward tension between the two males, "Well, Erik, this is Raoul." She motioned to the blond man, "Raoul, this is Erik." She motioned to the masked man. Raoul gave Erik a quick nod but Erik stood motionless, eyeing him.

"Well, uh, Raoul? If you could. . . just head inside and up to my apartment. . . it's on the fourth floor, number 16. I'll be right there." Christine smiled at him as he obliged and walked away. Then she turned to Erik.

"If I may, Monsieur, are you all right?"

"Who is he?"

Christine was taken aback. Why was he so concerned and serious about this?

"He- he is my childhood friend, Sir. Why the question?" She frowned. Erik averted his gaze from hers, and instead looked down at his own shoes as he desperately tried to think of an excuse.

"Er. . . I. . ." He began.

For once, Erik didn't know what to say.

"I. . ." He faltered again, and Christine shook her head, causing Erik's heart to drop again. He clenched his jaw and looked at her worriedly. This was awkward.

Christine took a deep breath in, and realised that Erik had started smiling, baring his teeth. But it wasn't a good smile. It seemed threatening. _No_! No, it didn't seem threatening. It seemed as though it was hiding a broken soul behind it. _That was it_. Christine studied him. His face was very pale, and he looked as though he hadn't seen the light of day in years. He looked very sleep- deprived.

Christine suddenly noticed something which for some reason surprised her. Erik had dimples when he smiled! Even when he didn't, she could still slightly see where they had been.

"Are you done?" Erik was still smiling, clearly trying to hide his fury. His eyebrow was raised in such a manner that anyone would know he was fed up of everything. And that was when Christine felt something.

A fluttery feeling in her stomach.

Her heartbeat increased and she suddenly felt the need to embrace this man, but she knew she couldn't. What would he do if she did? Kill her? Surely not.

Either way, she now saw him differently, in a rather positive way, in fact.

"Sorry." She apologised, and averted her gaze for a second, but then looked back at him. His smile began to falter and he locked eyes with Christine. She looked right into his eyes, his left one chocolatey brown, his right one icy blue. Christine sensed that there was a whole past full of torment behind him, and that these eyes had seen things they shouldn't have. This man, he was so interesting. Christine had to know more. What was under his mask? Who made it for him? Where did he live? Did he have any friends? What if he had a wife? What if he was _gay_?

Erik looked away after about a minute of looking into Christine's ocean blue eyes, and a blush crept across his bare cheek. _All right_ , Christine thought, _he probably wasn't gay_. She realised he was, in fact, quite attractive. He did his eyebrow sharp and neither too thin or too thick. He seemed to have a bunch of concealer on, and perhaps even foundation. His lips were a light pink, and they were neither too thin or too thick (just like his eyebrow), however they became quite swollen towards the right side, and under his mask.

Suddenly the two of them realised what she was doing. Erik looked down as much as he could, tipping his fedora more so that his face was unseeable, and Christine flushed while pursing her lips into a thin line and looking past him into the distance. Had he thought she was going to kiss him? She truly hoped not.

That was when Erik looked back up hesitantly. He swallowed and spoke up.

"I shall take my leave now. Uh, haha, mmm, I'll see you tomorrow at work. Perhaps. Maybe. I- Well, I might as well just shut my fucking mouth before I say anything worse and humiliate myself."

That made Christine chuckle, but blush too. She had not thought of him as someone to curse, but now that she'd heard him do so, she wanted to hear more. After all, his voice was just _perfect_. It was so silky, musical, and, in a way, _seductive_.

"Do you have a phone?" She quickly asked. Erik frowned, and pulled out a jet black iPhone. It was an 8+. Christine raised her eyebrows. _Was he rich?_

It surprisingly had no passcode, and so she went into contacts and added her number in, calling herself 'Christine Xx'. She went onto the blank profile picture, and took a photo of herself smiling sweetly. She then added the contact and gave Erik his phone back.

"I'll see you, Erik." She smiled and walked away.


End file.
